


Weather The Storm

by DumpsterSellout



Series: Any Way The Wind Blows [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (i like my long hair bois), Brian is everyones hero, Deaky is emetophobic but it's chill, Emetophobic character, Freddie is a sweetie, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Roger, Sickfic, emetophobes beware, smile(ish) era, there is no plot it's just fluffy nonsense with these two getting together again bc I love it, there is vomit, they're just a big happy family and they all live together ugh, triple whammy illness bc i couldn't decide, uni days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-16 16:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18097541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumpsterSellout/pseuds/DumpsterSellout
Summary: Roger really, really should have taken that shower. He woke up at 7 with a frigid chill running down his spine and a blocked nose. Great. Just what he needed. He was sweating a little bit, too, which was marvellous, and when he got up out of bed to go to the loo he had to grab the wall to stop himself from toppling over. Fuck. He wasn’t going to hear the end of it if he’d gone and gotten himself sick.In which there is a snowstorm, Roger is sick, Deaky is anxious, Brian is confused, and Freddie just wants everybody to be okay.





	1. Sleet

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I'm obsessed with sickfics and imma be writing a series of multi chap fics where each of our lovely band members will be subjected to whatever illness crosses my pea brain at the time  
> Also theres more Rog and Brian falling in love bc i like it idc
> 
> It's not angsty or dramatic and it's not really a story either its just fluffy nonsense bc I like sickfics okay enjoy

Roger couldn’t feel his feet. He blamed his shoes. His lovely, _expensive_ shoes, that were now completely soaked through with the snow slush that lined the streets. He had, stupidly, stayed up almost the whole night previously, studying and drinking too much tea and panicking because he realised he was ridiculously under-prepared for his anatomy exam the day before he was set to take it.

He’d shown up three minutes late at 3:18, and had only just managed to charm his way into the room, despite being told he’d have to sit a make up session. He managed to _maybe_ scrape by, he’d have to wait and see for the results, but when he’d walked out, he’d immediately started wilting out of pure exhaustion. He was in dire need of sleep, but coffee would have to do until bedtime. Or he’d hoped so anyway, when he’d entered the shitty little cafe just off campus, ordering the strongest thing on the menu and taken a seat in a corner booth to try to unravel just what the fuck he’d been thinking, pulling an all-nighter the night before an exam.

That plan had backfired, though, when he was shaken awake by a cute waitress, and it was dark outside, his cup of coffee stone cold and untouched beside him, his neck and shoulders aching, with a dark red mark running along his cheek from the table.

“I’m sorry love, we’re closing up. I can get you a new one to go,” she offered, gesturing to his cup, and Roger had to get his brain in working order to try to decode what she’d said, his mind fogged with sleep. He had no idea what time they shut, he’d honestly thought they were one of those ‘24 hour diner’ type deals, they’d always been open when he’d walked past, but apparently not. His exam had finished at 5:30, and he’d been stupid to stop to get coffee anyway, it had been almost dark when he’d ducked in at 6, and it was certainly dark now, and he must have looked pretty dishevelled, because he was shaken out of his thoughts with an

“Are you alright love?” from the waitress, and he nodded and got up, grabbing his coat and shrugging it on.

“Yeah, yeah thanks, sorry,” he was a little bit flustered, and was almost out the door when he turned around suddenly, feeling a bit jarred by the wind blowing in from outside.

“Sorry, erm, what time is it?” he asked, blinking hard.

“Just gone one sweetheart,” she called over her shoulder, and his heart sank. One? That meant in the morning, which meant he’d been crashed out on the table for almost 7 hours, no wonder he was so sore, _how the fuck had he not woken up by himself,_ and he was a bit panicky about getting home. He was already shivering, he hadn’t worn a thick enough coat, but then again he hadn’t expected to be out this late, and it had snowed a little bit while he was asleep, and he should have worn boots but he’d worn his favourite trainers - which were  _canvas_ - instead and within minutes the snow slush he was dragging his feet through had soaked through his socks to his skin. That was making him almost irrationally angry, and he found himself muttering every swear word he knew as he walked along.

There was no way there would be any trains or buses running this late, he’d have to walk it, he didn’t have enough cash on him for a cab. He knew it wasn’t that far, but he was exhausted and cold and miserable, and the more he thought about it the more he was sure he’d failed his exam, too. He should have prepared, but every time he tried to study Freddie would distract him with scrabble or Brian would bring him some tea and a biscuit or Deaky would ask him for a hand with something heavy and he’d never get to finish, and trying to get it all done the night before had been a stupid idea which he'd _stupidly_ only just realised. He hoped it would be better than no revision at all, but he didn't have much confidence that it was, and now he was going to freeze to death walking home at one in the morning, all because he’d been an idiot. What a great way to die.

He buried his hands deep in his pockets, trying to quicken his pace a little bit. He really thought he might freeze to death soon, he couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes, he wished he’d taken the waitress up on her offer for a fresh cup of coffee. It might have warmed his hands a bit. He couldn't feel his nose or ears either, he should have worn a hat, he thought. He could keep telling himself that he hadn't dressed appropriately - hell, he was wearing a cropped tee under his coat - because he didn’t think he’d be out this late, but it was really because he just hadn’t thought about it. He’d been in such a rush that he’d figured he’d worry about it if it happened, thinking that it wouldn’t come to that. He always thought it wouldn’t come to that.

But it _had_ come to that, and his tummy was getting cold now, and he didn’t have a solution. He could have stopped at a payphone and called home and gotten Brian or Deaky to come pick him up in the van, but it was past one, they’d be in bed, and if he did somehow manage to wake them up and get them to actually agree to pick him up, he would get an earful, and probably - definitely - have it bite him in the arse later on. Besides, it was only another ten minutes home, it wouldn’t kill him, especially if he sped up a bit. He could see his breath in front of him, thick and hot and coming in short little pants.

He wasn’t much of a runner, but it was warming him up a tiny bit. The problem was, it also made him sweat, and when he was out of breath after a few minutes and had to slow down, he was colder than ever, like his sweat was freezing onto him in the cold air. He finally made it to the lobby of his building, realising that _fuck,_ the main doors locked between two and five in the morning, and he needed somebody to come and let him in from the inside. He buzzed the office once, twice, three, then four times, bouncing on the balls of his feet to keep moving, trying to keep himself from freezing solid, before a very disgruntled looking building manager let him in with a grunt and a warning. He sprinted up the stairs, panting again by the time he reached the door. The second the key was in the lock, the door swung open by itself, only not by itself at all, and he was greeted by a very, _very_ cross looking Brian, practically being yanked inside by the collar.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been? It’s past two!” his voice spat. Roger winced, and looked around to see Freddie, thankfully, coming to his rescue. Maybe.

“Darling! What have you been doing? I thought your exam was over at five, we all thought you’d jumped off a bridge or something!” Freddie was shouting too, but he didn’t sound very cross, more like he was about to cry, and he was being pulled into a tight hug.

“My goodness, you’re an icicle! What have you been doing?!” he asked, wrenching his hands out of his jean pockets and sandwiching them between his own, gasping.

“I fell asleep,” he admitted sheepishly. He saw three mouths drop open. Oh, great, Deaky was up too.

“You _fell asleep_? In the middle of your exam?” Brian asked incredulously.

“No,” he sighed, shaking his head, “no I went to get coffee and I just kind of… nodded off,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks heating up.

“You don’t even drink coffee, Rog. We were going to call the police,” Deaky’s measured voice came next, and he winced. He sounded upset, and Deaky _never_ sounded upset. He shook his head. 

“I’m sorry, _god_ , I’m not a little kid, you don’t need to be… sitting up and wringing your hands over where I’ve got to,” he grumbled, feeling himself being steered by the shoulders and pushed down onto the sofa, a blanket wrapping around his shoulders. 

“We normally wouldn’t, but you said you’d get dinner on the way home so we were expecting you. And, it’s a Tuesday night so there isn’t really anywhere you could have gone, Rog,” Brian reminded him, and he felt a little bit guilty for worrying them.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, shrugging the blankets off and getting up.

“Darling, how did you fall asleep for that long? Are you ill? How did you get home?” Freddie asked, replacing the blanket, making him scowl. He heard Deaky in the kitchen, switching the kettle on, and just sank back into the sofa a little, feeling a full blown interrogation brewing.

“I just fucking did, okay? I was up all night last night and I forgot about dinner so I went to get coffee so I could actually focus and I just - I don’t know! I fell asleep at the table and the fucking waitress woke me up and told me to get out, and it was too late to get a train, so I walked,” he was getting worked up about it, but then Freddie’s arms were around his neck, and he was hushing him and stroking the little hairs at the back of his neck with his thumb.

“You walked? Oh, sweetheart you could have called, Brian would have come,” Freddie's voice was soft and calming and a bit guilty, and his thumbs were running along his cheekbones.

“Darling, oh, sweetheart we were just _so_ worried about you, Deaky’s right we really were about to call the police, we thought something horrible had happened. How far did you walk? Are you alright?” he was properly fussing now, which distracted him and calmed him down a little bit, and he shrugged.

“From the cafe next to the school, I’m fine my nuts are just frozen off,” he grumbled, and Deaky set a mug of hot tea down in front of him, which he took right away to warm his almost purple fingers. Freddie was soon busy working off his trainers,

“That's a long way, sweetheart. Oh! They’re soaked through! Darling you _are_ an idiot,” he sighed, and he soon had his icy, wet socks replaced by dry ones, and he was starting to feel exhausted and a little bit sorry for himself with everybody fussing over him. Well, everybody except for Brian, who had his arms folded over his chest, still looking very cross with him. He was going to have to make it up to him somehow. He didn’t like it when Brian was cross with him, especially because they shared a bedroom, and _especially_ because Roger had a big fat crush on him and had been trying to ‘woo’ him for two months now, with very little reciprocation.

He was glad when Deaky turned the heat up, and Freddie cuddled up with him, rubbing his hand across his shoulders to try to warm him up, and he stopped being cross altogether.

“Sorry I didn’t call, I panicked,” he mumbled, and Freddie hugged him a bit tighter, and Deaky patted him on the top of his head, and even Brian unfolded his arms and deflated a little bit.

“Just… _call,_ next time, alright?” Brian sighed, exasperated, and Roger nodded. He _should_ have taken off his soaked clothes and had a shower to warm up, and he _should_ have spoken to Brian to apologise properly because he looked like he'd taken ten years off his life with this one ordeal, and his frown had carved another deep line into his forehead, and he wanted to cuddle up with him in his bed and be held and warmed up properly. But he was too exhausted to do anything except to whine softly, and be carefully steered to his bedroom and bundled into bed by Freddie, still wearing his clothes, with a kiss on his forehead, and a tired sounding,

“Goodnight,” from Brian across the room, and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

 

Roger really, really should have taken that shower. He woke up at 7 with a frigid chill running down his spine and a blocked nose. Great. Just what he needed. He was sweating a little bit, too, which was marvellous, and when he got up out of bed to go to the loo he had to grab the wall to stop himself from toppling over. Fuck. He wasn’t going to hear the end of it if he’d gone and gotten himself sick. He felt a pair of eyes burning into him as he stood against the wall, eyes fluttering closed for just a second, and turned to see Brian, sitting up in bed, already dressed, open books spread out over his neatly made bedspread.

  
“Alright?” Brian asked, eyebrow raised, and he nodded, doing his best to dash out of the room and across to the bathroom without stumbling too much. Deaky was up too, looking like he was ready to leave for class, sparing him a little wave as Roger locked himself in the bathroom. He could smell the fry up that Deaky had made for breakfast, and it made his stomach turn in response. No no no, he wasn’t nauseous, he wasn’t sick, he didn’t get sick, he was fine. He had a lesson at 3, and he’d be fine by then, after a bit more sleep and some breakfast. He went to the loo, not bothering to wash his hands, which was a bit gross, but he was too tired to care, practically crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over his head, earning a concerned glance from Brian. 

“Sure you’re alright?” he asked, and he just grunted at him, already feeling himself drifting off, hoping that was the end of it. It wasn't.

“Rog, you’ve got a lecture at 10,” he reminded him, _twat_ , he thought, and he pulled the covers down from over his head for a moment.

“I’m not going to the lecture,” he grumbled.

“That’s not going to get you a passing grade, Brian commented. Roger scowled at him, _twat twat twat,_ before launching his pillow across at him. He lay still for a second, before Brian heard a sheepish,

“Can I have that back?”

He just laughed softly and tossed it gently at the middle of the bed. Roger slipped it back under his head and turned over to face Brian.

“You don’t sound very good,” he said, sitting up and curiously looking over at him. He rolled away from him, and he sighed.

“Want me to wake you up for your lesson?” he asked softly.

“Don’t you have uni today?” Roger grumbled, sounding a bit accusing.

“Not until four,” he replied, sounding too calm and measured and sensible, and it almost made his blood boil, seeing as how rotten he was feeling.

“Want some tea?” Brian offered, and Roger rolled his eyes.

“I’m _trying_ to sleep,” Roger sighed, and Brian hummed. 

“Sorry, I’ll be quiet,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice, and Roger was out like a light, pillow draped over his head to block out the light.

 

Roger woke again when Brian slammed the door, opening his eyes and seeing him wince.

“Sorry,” he whispered, looking sheepish, sitting down on his bed.

“Mm, right,” Roger sighed tiredly. He hadn’t gotten more than an hour of sleep, he was sure, but when he looked at the clock it was past two, and he was still exhausted.

“You should get up anyway Rog, you need to get ready for class,” he prompted, and Roger sighed dramatically, making a snap decision that he’d rather do literally anything else than go to class today.

“I’m not going in,” he grumbled, pulling the covers back up to his chin and shutting his eyes. He heard Brian’s bed springs creak as he got up again, and his own bed dipped as he sat on the edge near Roger’s legs.

“Like hell you’re not. You haven’t been going nearly enough recently, and you’ve been struggling with keeping up with the work as it is. Stop being lazy and get up,” he said sternly, giving him a firm pat on the leg. Roger rolled onto his back, sitting up a bit to glare at him.

“Brian, could you stop being such a fucking _prat_ for five minutes,” he spat. Brian looked a little bit hurt, but he didn’t say anything about it, folding his arms as he stood up.

“You can get as annoyed as you like, you’re not getting out of going to school,” Brian said, and Roger snapped, kicking his sheets off with flailing legs, looking very cross as he sat up quickly, head spinning sickeningly.

“You sound like my fucking mum!” he spat, and Brian just rolled his eyes.

“Ooh, harsh, Rog,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he went about packing his books into his bag. Roger didn’t really know why he was even doing what Brian said, he just sort of had that way about him. When he commanded you to do something, you just did it, no matter how badly you didn’t want to. He threw on the first pair of trousers he saw, and a clean t shirt. He smelled bad, he hadn’t showered in a bit too long, and his hair was a birds nest, but he didn’t care, grabbing his satchel and slinging it over his shoulder, looking like a mental case, eyes wide as he stared over at Brian.

“There, happy?!” he spat, slipping on a pair of trainers, stepping on the backs as he shuffled away, and Brian rolled his eyes.

“I’ll see you later, then,” he said calmly, waving him off, and Roger slammed the door behind him.

Well, he wasn’t doing the best job of winning him over right now, but he was being an absolute dickhead, so he didn’t care. Well, not until he got on the bus and started drooping like a dying flower and wished he hadn’t gotten so hot headed. He could have put on an act and pretended to be much sicker than he felt and maybe gotten some sympathy, and he’d still be at home, too.

 

Turns out, had he waited an hour or so, he wouldn’t have had to put on an act at all. By the time he got to uni at three, again just making it on time, his head was swimming, and despite the fact that it was almost snowing again, he felt too hot. He'd had to take his coat off before he'd even gotten into the building, feeling goosebumps rising on his skin from the sudden sensation of cold air, but not really feeling any less warm. He took a seat near the back of the room, hoping maybe he could just sleep it off and nobody would notice.

There was a small flaw in that plan, though, because peculiarly, as soon as he'd dropped his head down onto the desk, his stomach had started churning, even though he hadn't had anything to eat yet today. He had to admit it to himself. He was _ill_. He was going to get up and take himself home, but his professor was right in the middle of explaining something he was sure was very important to the course, and he felt a bit mean to disrupted the class even though he had to keep swallowing down nausea, making him wince when his own saliva burned his throat. It somehow _ached_ as well, almost like it was swollen. What on _earth_ was he coming down with? He hadn't felt this horrid in a long, long time.

His idea to not disrupt the class was also a bust, though, when he felt his stomach lurch and he knew he'd better get out of there if he didn't want to make a complete fool of himself, so he grabbed his bag and his coat and ran out of the room without so much as an apology. There wasn't any time. He was going to be sick, and he was going to be sick now. There wasn't even any time to run to the loo, the door to the courtyard was closer, and he just managed to shove it open and make it halfway behind a lone bush before he was spewing up tea and bile, and surprisingly, the cornflakes he'd eaten before his exam yesterday, all over the pavement. The courtyard was thankfully almost deserted, and the people who were hanging around didn’t pay much attention to him. It wasn't the first time a hungover looking student had spewed their guts on the concrete, and it wouldn't be the last.

He slouched down against the wall, feeling annoyingly weak and dizzy, needing just a moment to compose himself. He didn't get his moment, though, because when he glanced up he saw the longest pair of legs he'd ever seen quickly crossing the courtyard over to him, hopping the little patch of grass in between the two paths, and he groaned. Of course. Brian, on his way to his 4 o'clock class, which he was early for, by the way, _would_ have caught him in his finest moment, slumped on the ground beside a pile of his own sick. He heard him clear his throat and he looked up, squinting against the annoyingly bright sun, which was all but eclipsed by a mop of springy curls.

“Roger?” he said softly, like it wasn't obvious, and he just dropped his head back down onto his knees. He didn't have anything to say to him, there was no way he could make this better, or worse for that matter. Brian took in the sight in front of him, not entirely sure what to do, wishing he had Freddie with him. Freddie would have already had him cleaned up and bundled in his coat and in a cab on his way home by now, but Brian didn't really know how to approach any of this.

“Is that vomit?” was all he could come up with in an attempt to ‘break the ice’, gesturing to it with his foot. Roger just nodded, head still on his knees, looking positively miserable.

“Is it yours?”

Why he'd needed to add that as a follow up he wasn't sure, he'd _seen_ him being sick after all, but he hadn't gotten a great response from him the first time he'd spoken, and he was feeling a bit nervous. Roger just let his shoulders droop a little more, not bothering to say anything snarky, which was worrying, before nodding once. Brian felt awful about it, really, about having insisted he go to class when he clearly hadn't been feeling well, and he was paying for it now. Karma was a cruel bitch.

“Are you alright?” he asked, crouching beside him on the side that his vomit wasn't, reaching out a hand to awkwardly rest atop his blonde mop, patting it once before deciding he'd better keep still. Roger just shook his head, letting out a noise that sounded like a whimper, and it made Brian's heart hurt.

“Not feeling very well?” he tried, desperately, to get some verbal confirmation out of him, but Roger just seemed to be getting pissed off.

“What the fuck do you think?” he asked, no heat to his words, sounding like he'd swallowed a lemon whole. Brian felt his heart almost split in two as he realised that he _really_ had no idea what he was supposed to do, _desperately_ wanting to help Roger, but finding himself lost as he crouched there, trying not to gag at the smell of stomach acid.

“Come on, I'll take you home,” Brian offered. Roger just scowled up at him, and he felt his cheeks heating up with guilt and shame. He offered him an apologetic look, which seemed to get through to him, somehow, and Roger slumped.

“‘kay,” was all he managed, not making a move to get up, or do anything, really.

“Roger, come on,” he urged, “you need to get up.”

Roger seemed to listen to him, finally, and he slowly rose to his feet, one hand on the wall behind him, looking very shaky. Brian gingerly reached out a hand to hold onto his arm, and Roger didn't shove him off, so he counted it as a success. His heart was still floating around in his stomach, though, and he swallowed down any anxieties he might have had and wrapped his arm securely around his waist.

“Shit, Rog, I'm really sorry. Didn't know you were _actually_ ill,” he tried, hoping it would be enough.

“‘s ‘kay, didn't know either,” Roger mumbled in response, looking very pale and stupidly young. Brian moved his thumb up, finding the back of his neck, rubbing small, soothing circles there, like he'd seen Freddie do. He paused for a moment, not sure if he was ready for walking yet.

“Okay?” he asked kindly. Roger nodded, feeling his heartbeat speed up. He'd wanted this for so long, to be this close to Brian, to have him holding him and comforting him but it was happening all wrong. It wasn't supposed to be happening because he'd been sick on his shoes in the middle of the school, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about it. _Sick_ , was how he felt, actually. He let his head hang down, allowing Brian to guide the way as they - thankfully slowly - started walking.

“Is the train okay?...” Brian asked softly, keeping his voice low, not wanting to exacerbate any of his symptoms by being too loud. Roger nodded, even though it wasn't, really, it would be a while before the next train and he wouldn't get a seat, and he'd much sooner have been in a cab. He knew none of them had the money for a cab, though, so he just nodded and followed him to the train station. He got a bit scared when his stomach started worrying him again, and he panicked that if he got on the train he'd be sick in front of everyone again, and he started breathing funny. Brian noticed, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“You alright?” he asked, frowning down at him, and he realised with horror that Roger looked like he was going to cry.

“No,” he croaked, shaking his head fiercely. His stomach started cramping then, and he realised he needed to find a toilet very quickly. His eyes darted around, looking for anywhere that might have one, wondering if he'd make it back to the science and technology building. They'd just passed the art and design block, Freddie's building, they'd have a loo, he hoped. He hadn't been in there before, but they would, wouldn't they?

“Rog?” oh, had Brian been talking to him? Damn.

“Mm?” his voice was weak and raspy, and Brian gave him a sympathetic wince.

“I need the loo,” he mumbled, making a face as his stomach cramped again.

“There's one at the station,” Brian told him, and he shook his head. Not only was he quite disgusted at the thought of using a loo at a train station, what was worse was that he didn't think he'd make it. He just shook his head, turning on his heel to head back into the building. Brian followed with a look of worry, a step or two behind him the whole way.

“Are you going to be sick again?” he asked, and Roger shook his head, practically slamming the bathroom door in his face. He winced, leaning against the wall and trying not to think too hard about what he was doing in there. He ended up having to wait a while, slouching down the wall before sitting on the floor, taking out one of his books to catch up on his reading.

 

Roger reappeared more than twenty minutes later, looking pale and drained and absolutely exhausted, cradling his belly. Brian just winced when he saw him, doing his best to make his face soft.

“Tummy ache?” he asked quietly, and Roger nodded silently, swallowing thickly and turning a bit red. Brian was thinking maybe they'd somehow find the cash to get a taxi home, the poor thing looked god awful, and he didn't know how either of them would handle it if he had an incident on the train.

“Hang on, I'll ring for a cab okay?” he offered. Roger nodded gratefully, leaning against the wall and shutting his eyes, arms wrapped tightly around his aching belly. He bit his lip.

“You should sit down,” he said, and Roger took his advice, slumping into a heap on the floor of the corridor. He hadn't meant there, but he didn't say anything. He just shot him a worried look as he made off down the hall to find a payphone. Thankfully, there was one not too far away, and he called to get a cab ASAP, hurrying back to Roger to get him to the front of the school. He seemed to have wilted even more, if that was possible, and he cringed at the sight of him, practically carrying him to the road at the front of the school.

“Jesus Rog, you look horrible,” he commented. He scowled at that, moving his hand up to smooth his hair down. Brian just laughed.

“It's not your hair mate,” he chuckled, hand finding his waist again, giving him a quick squeeze while they waited. He was shivering beside him, and Brian worried his lip between his teeth until it bled.

“Are you cold?” he asked quietly, getting a nod from Roger, taking his coat off and wrapping it around his shoulders. The air stung his bare arms a bit, but Roger seemed not to be shivering as much now, and Brian counted it as a success.

He bundled him into the cab, sitting across from him in the back, calming down now that Roger wasn't shivering anymore, and he seemed to be breathing a bit more normally.

“Give me a kick if you're going to be sick,” he said. Roger smiled a bit at the rhyme, nodding. They both earned a worried glance from the driver, but he just took them home, thankfully not kicking them out when he got a good look at Roger, which was what Brian had been afraid of.

 

Brian managed to manhandle him into the lift, giving the cabbie his last fiver with a wince, only getting a few coins change. That was going to bite him in the arse later in the week, he could feel it. The clock had just ticked over 4:30 when they got in the door, and he could hear Freddie complaining about cutting onions in the kitchen.

“Hey!” Brian called into the flat, and Deaky poked his head out of the kitchen into the living room, eyes widening a bit when he saw the pair, Roger wearing two coats and looking like he'd been dragged through the street backwards, Brian's hands on his shoulders firmly, holding him in place.

“Jesus! What's happened?” he asked, carefully taking a little step back into the kitchen when he noticed how pale Roger looked.

“He's not very well I'm afraid. Caught him spewing his guts up outside the tech building,” Brian sighed, and Deaky's eyes went even wider.

“He's been puking?” he asked, blanching when Brian nodded, and Deaky skirted around the outside of the room, practically stuck to the walls, avoiding them both as he made a dash for his room.

“Nope, no, no, not going to- no,” he mumbled to himself, seeming a bit panicked, shutting himself in his room.

“Who's been puking?” Freddie’s voice called from the kitchen, and his head popped out the door too, face setting into a frown when he saw the pair.

“Oh, god, he looks like he's about to drop dead! Brian, stop holding him there like he's a pair or dirty knickers and take him to bed!” he insisted, crossing the floor to take charge. Brian relaxed a little bit when he did. He’d kind of exhausted his - admittedly small - realm of knowledge when it came to caring for somebody.

“Roger, darling you look awful, you've been sick?” he confirmed, sweeping him into his room and sitting him on his bed. Brian followed him, not really sure what else to do, watching as Freddie pulled out a pair of pyjamas that Roger never wore, usually opting to sleep in a jumper and a pair of underwear, tossing them on the bed beside him.

“God, you really shouldn't have told Deaky, he's not going to come out of his room all night now. Don't just stand there, Brian, help him get dressed,” he scolded lightly, moving about the room like a hurricane, and Brian did as he was told. Roger was surprisingly pliant, looking wrecked.

“Oh! I know, I can turn my stew into soup, that'll be good for your stomach darling, I've only just started so it won't be ready for a bit. You won't be hungry for a bit though, will you,” he cooed, pushing Brian aside once he was done helping him with his pyjamas, making sure the pillows on Roger's bed were adequately fluffed before tucking him into bed.

“Now, don't you move, alright?” he instructed, finding the bin from the corner of the room and showing it to him, before putting it down beside the bed.

“If you're going to be sick, do it in that. Brian will go out and get you some medicine, you just get some rest, darling,” he said sweetly, dropping a kiss onto his forehead. Roger hadn't been listening, his eyes were fuzzy and unfocused, and he was already half asleep.


	2. Icicles

Brian didn’t know what kind of medicine he was supposed to get. Freddie had given him some money from a shoebox under his bed, which Brian pretended to deny, but he didn’t try too hard because if he hadn’t taken it he wouldn’t have been able to afford anything. Freddie had rolled his eyes and physically pushed the money into his pocket, sending him down to the chemist on the corner, telling him to get whatever he thought Roger might need. The trouble was, he only knew one of his symptoms for sure, which was that he was vomiting, and he wasn’t sure if they’d have anything to stop that.

“Excuse me,” he called, trying to get the attention of the pharmacist. He wasn’t sure if he’d been successful for a moment, and he didn’t want to yell out, or say it again, in case he’d heard him and he was just busy. He didn’t like being rude, which was hard because sometimes he wasn't sure what was rude and what was assertive, and he sometimes hurt people's feelings that way. He turned to walk away and brave the aisles by himself, when he heard a voice.

“Yes son, how can I help?” a kind looking, older man appeared from behind the counter.

“Oh! Hi, erm, sorry, my friend isn’t very well and I’ve been sent out to get some things,” he started. The pharmacist gave him a knowing nod.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the first clue where to begin,” he added with a laugh, and the man leaned on the counter as he listened.

“I've not had to buy medicine for other people before.”

“Alright, well, I suppose we’ll start with the basics, then,” he said, stepping out from behind the counter to guide him around the shop, smiling at him knowingly. He could see how flustered Brian looked, and he was rather young, so he didn't pass any judgement. Brian was very grateful that he was being so kind, half expecting him to be a bit stuffy and short with him.

“Do you know what he’s ill with?” he asked, guiding him down an aisle, lined with painkillers and cough medicines and all sorts of different pills for any ailment you could imagine.

“No, no he hasn’t been to the doctor yet, he’s only just started feeling bad this afternoon,” he explained, shaking his head.

“Okay, well what kind of symptoms is he showing? Do you know?” he asked, turning to look at him and raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, sort of,” he said nervously, a bit conscious that he might be wasting the man's time, or his own.

“Hm. Alright, does he have a fever?” he asked, perusing the shelves.

“Yeah, well I didn’t check, but he was shivering with two coats so,” he said. The man nodded.

“Sounds like it, then. Your basic paracetamol is best for fevers,” he said.

“Oh, we’ve got some at home already I think,” he mumbled, hand going to the back of his neck to rub at it awkwardly. The man looked to him and raised an eyebrow, and Brian gave him a weak smile, hoping he wasn’t annoying him too much.

“Well, that’ll take care of the majority of symptoms for most of your run of the mill colds and flus, if he gets a cough then this should manage that,” he said, handing him a nondescript brown bottle of generic brand cough syrup.

“He’s been vomiting too,” he said, suddenly, thankfully remembering the one symptom that he actually knew for sure he had.

“Oh, well, if it’s from a virus then the only thing to do is let it run its course I’m afraid. Lots going round at the moment, winter and all. You can try an antacid but it’ll likely clear up in a few days, just make sure he stays hydrated. Nothing worse than being dehydrated and unwell. If he isn’t feeling any better in a few days, or the vomiting gets any worse, or if he can’t keep water down, be sure to take him to see a doctor,” he instructed. Brian felt a little lighter at his reassurance and instruction, glad he’d asked him instead of guessing his way through the aisles, nodding.

“Just the cough medicine, then?” he asked, and Brian nodded, paying for it, finding it a lot cheaper than he’d thought it would be. He took the brown paper bag, shoving it into his pocket and walking back to the flat, hoping he’d gotten enough.

 

“Darling you're back!” Freddie called from the kitchen over a pot of boiling chicken, plumes of steam rising, warming the kitchen and fogging the windows. He went in to greet him, seeing him draped over the counter dramatically. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he was just staring at Brian.

“Alright, Fred?” he asked, pulling a stool up to the counter, looking at him expectantly.

“Poor Rog has been sick again,” he said, letting his shoulders drop, looking nervously towards the bedroom door.

“Oh. Poor thing,” Brian frowned, turning his nose up. Freddie still looked a bit nervous, and he eyed Brian, who in turn eyed him right back.

“I didn’t clean it up,” he added with a mumble, giving him a sheepish look.

“What do you mean you didn’t clean it up?” he frowned, “where was he sick?”

“Oh, just… well mainly in the bin,” he said vaguely, turning back to his soup to pretend he was too busy to talk to him.

“Mainly,” he sighed, a bit defeated, knowing that if he didn’t clean it up, then it would stay, well, wherever it was. He reached under the sink for a pair of gloves and some form of cleaner, figuring if Freddie hadn’t cleaned it up then it must have gotten somewhere that didn’t come out very easily. He was right. He did his best to be quiet as he crept into the bedroom, leaving the door open so that he could see, not wanting to bother him with the ceiling light. Roger was snoring away in bed, only the top of his blond mop poking out from the covers, and he was grateful that at least the dim light from outside wouldn’t bother him.

It smelt sickeningly of stomach acid and sweat, and he suppressed a gag as he saw the awful mess that Roger had made on the carpet. Freddie had lied - unsurprisingly - it wasn’t ‘ _mostly in the bin_ ’, it was mostly all over the floor, and on the edge of Roger’s bedspread, with a bit of a puddle in the bin. He knelt down, trying not to grumble as he tried to work out how to even think about approaching it. He hadn’t done much vomit cleaning in his life, well, not off furniture, mainly off other people and himself in bright bathrooms at parties, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to go about it. Was he supposed to just scoop it up with his hands? Was there some kind of specialised tool he was supposed to have, and if so, did they have one? He didn’t know, but he should probably get started on it. He really didn’t want the smell to stick in his room.

He did his best, using almost an entire bottle of cleaner, scrubbing the carpet a little too hard, leaving a patch a bit fuzzy and pilled. It had stained too, which was great, he didn’t know how they’d hide that one from the landlord. He was more careful when he moved closer Roger, only lightly wiping it off his bedspread, not wanting to wake him up. They could throw it in the wash later without much trouble. He ran the bin bag out to the dumpster, grimacing at the way the contents sloshed around, having to breathe very deeply, away from the bag, to stop himself from being sick too. He didn’t really handle vomit too well, but it seemed that nobody else in the flat did either, so he sucked it up. He replaced the bin liner, worrying about the noise waking him up, but it only seemed to snore louder in response, and he shut the door on the way out. He went back into the kitchen, seeing Freddie running his finger under the tap, cursing.

“Alright?” he asked, frowning. Freddie looked back at him with a pout, holding his finger out.

“Burnt it on the pot,” he sulked, sticking it in his mouth.

“You should leave it under the tap,” Brian commented, taking the pharmacy back out of his pocket, watching as he eyed it curiously. Brian smiled softly when he took his finger out of his mouth a second later, glad to see that it wasn’t too bad, taking the cough syrup out of the bag to show to him.

“That's it?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. Brian nodded, not sure what the problem was. That’s what he’d been told to get by a professional.

“You didn't even get him any cough drops. What if he's got a sore throat?”

“Well I didn't have a chance to ask, Fred, he’s asleep. And you didn't exactly give me any specifics either. I spoke to the pharmacist and this is what he told me to get, plus the normal panadol we already have,” he said. Freddie still looked a bit sulky.

“Well, you might have to make another trip later when he wakes up and starts complaining,” he mumbled. Brian nodded, smiling at the thought, which was a bit weird.

“I probably will do, yeah. That's alright though,” he said, handing him the change, getting a bit of a shocked look as he counted up the coins and notes.

“Oh. It was quite cheap, wasn't it?” he looked pleasantly surprised, putting the money on top of the fridge, “we'll save that for anything else he might need,” he said sensibly, turning back to his soup.

“I think I should put garlic in it, it’s so good for flu’s, but I'm worried about his poor stomach if I do. I don't want to upset it any more than it is,” he sighed. Brian shrugged, not a great expert on cooking, folding the bag neatly and putting it in the cupboard. They could probably use it for something later.

“Poor Deaks has worked himself up into a bit of a panic,” Freddie sighed, slicing up carrots and strangely, a few small red chillis. Brian didn't ask what he was doing with them, more concerned about the Deaky comment.

“Has he? About what?” he asked, frowning, stealing a slice of carrot, earning a knife handle to the back of the hand.

“Oh, he just gets a bit funny when people are ill. Convinces himself that if he catches it it'll be the end of the world,” he sighed, tipping the contents of his cutting board into the pot, stepping back with a curse when hot water splashed up out of it.

“Oh, shit. I didn't know. Should I not have told him he was ill?” Brian asked nervously. Freddie shrugged casually, not seeming as worried as Brian felt.

“Well, maybe not, but he would have found out sooner or later and it might've been worse if we didn't, so,” he said, draining a can of corn. Brian was fairly sure you were supposed to add the ingredients in intervals so they didn't go mushy, but he didn’t know the order so he didn't say anything.

“Moreso letting you know as a warning, just in case he locks himself in his room for a bit, or gets a bit short with you,” he shrugged, “or, you know, runs away from you when you walk into a room.” Brian was intrigued, now, and a little bit worried that he'd caused a problem that could have been avoided.

“Is it whenever anybody even like, sneezes around him? Or is it,” Brian waved his hand around, not being able to find the word he was after, “you know. Specific?”

“Oh no darling he's not insane. It's really just with vomiting, he can’t be around it, can’t do it, can barely say the word. But he's got it in his head that any illness can lead to it, though, so he's a bit overly cautious,” he explained, “why do you think he won't have more than a drink with us when we're out? Or goes home early if we start getting a bit out of hand?” he smirked. Brian had never thought much about it, really, thought he just didn't enjoy bars. He’d always seemed the type to stay in and read a book over going out to a party.

“Do you know why he’s so… afraid?” Brian asked, hoping that had been the right word to use, his mind growing more curious as he thought about it. Sure, Brian didn't love getting sick, but if it had to happen he'd rather it out than in. Freddie shook his head.

“Haven't the foggiest, he’s never told me that much. You'd have to ask him, but I doubt he'd be up for much of a chat. Not right now, anyway,” he said. Brian just nodded.

“Should I check on him?” he asked.

“If you like. Might not want you to come in though, you know, now that you're a potential ‘carrier’. Actually, you better not. He might get upset. You keep an eye on the soup,” he handed him a potato and a peeler, “I'll make sure he's not too much of a nervous wreck. Don't hold out much hope,” he winked, making off toward their room.

Brian got to work peeling the potatoes that Freddie had gotten out, not cutting them up, not knowing how he wanted them done. He came back out of his room not too much later, shaking his head.

“Poor thing’s worked himself up into a bit of a flap,” he sighed, “he's asked me to ask you and Rog stay away from him for a little while. I told him he's being silly but he's not having it, he looked like he was about to go into cardiac arrest when I said Roger had been sick again,” he sounded a little exasperated, but not especially unkind.

“No, no that's fine,” Brian nodded, stepping away from Freddie's cooking space when he flapped his hands at him, “I might settle in my room for a bit, in case he wakes up.” Freddie waved him off, seeming focused on his soup, and he quietly let himself into his bedroom, keeping the light off even though he wanted to read, not wanting to wake Roger up.

Roger was having a terrible dream. He couldn’t even place what about it was so terrible, but there was certainly something about it that was downright unsettling. It was abstract and kept jumping around, fuelled by fever and lack of sleep, and it was making him panicky. When he woke with a jolt, he almost jumped out of bed to attack the figure at the door, before managing to stop himself and remember where he was. Home, in bed. He’d gotten sick at school - god, how embarrassing - and Brian had brought him home. And Brian was in the doorway now, he told himself. He looked a bit scary, tall and shadowy, back-lit from the living room light, and in his feverish state he was almost not quite convinced it was actually Brian, maybe an impostor, sent to look like Brian, body-snatchers style, but not quite him. God, everything felt ten times worse than when he’d fallen asleep.

His throat was absolutely killing him, he couldn’t even swallow his own saliva without bringing tears to his eyes, he his fever was so bad he was sure he was about to catch fire, and yet he felt so cold he wanted to wrap himself in a million blankets. His stomach hurt, that wasn’t new, but it was a different kind of pain, it had evolved from nausea to an annoying ache that wouldn’t go away no matter how much he shifted around. His head was pounding, too, and he could feel his chest wheezing with every breath he took. This was it. He was going to die. At least maybe Brian could save him. Maybe.

“Brian?” Roger's voice was small and sleepy and high pitched, and Brian stopped dead in the middle of the room. He’d scared him a little bit. He didn’t think he’d be awake.

“Yeah?” he whispered, reaching out to flick on his lamp, wishing he hadn't when he saw Roger wince in the light and squeeze his eyes shut. He didn't look angry, more like he might cry, which was much worse. He was terribly pale, his blond hair mussed and greasy. His lips were cracked with dehydration, and he remembered what the pharmacist had said about trying to get him to drink.

“I feel awful,” he said in a small voice, and Brian cringed at the sound of it. It sounded like he'd just woken up from a thousand year sleep buried in sand.

“Yeah you're not sounding great. Or looking it,” he said, keeping his voice as low as he could, going over to beside his bed. Roger moved over on the bed, and Brian took it as a sign it was okay to sit down.

“Do you have a temperature? Do you know?” he asked. Roger shrugged, shaking his head.

“Don't know. Cold,” he complained, shivering as if to prove his point. Brian's hand found his forehead, and he hissed when he came into contact with his heated skin. Roger leaned in, strangely, even though he was cold, and Brian's hand was cold, it felt amazing against his skin.

“Oh, god Rog you're burning up,” he said softly, feeling panic swelling inside him when he couldn’t remember what to do next, taking one of his hands and wincing. They were like icicles, and he wasn't sure how part of him could be so cold, when the rest of him was so hot.

“No I'm not… freezing,” he pouted, pulling the covers up to his chin. Brian gave a little sigh, running his hand through his greasy hair.

“Need to get you some panadol, hold on,” he mumbled, fumbling around in his top dresser drawer, pulling out a battered packet.

“Can't swallow it. Can't swallow anything,” he mumbled, hand going to his throat. Brian tutted, taking his clammy hand and popping two out into his upturned palm.

“It'll make you feel a lot better,” he promised, and Roger scowled a bit, taking a glass of water that Brian was sure had been sitting on the windowsill for days, swallowing the pills with a pained expression and a little noise.

“Think we might have to get you down to see the doctor, Rog,” he sighed, hand resting back on his forehead, wishing he didn't feel as warm as he did, feeling a little bit helpless.

“No,” Roger protested, shaking his head and slipping a bit further down into bed, trying to disappear.

“I feel too poorly, just let me sleep it off,” he sounded like he was almost begging, and Brian had to roll his eyes.

“God, Rog, we're not going to force you down there. Well, not if you don't need to be forced,” he added, and Roger's face went from relaxed to a tight pout. Brian laughed at that.

“God you look a fright,” he sighed, taking in his pale complexion and dark eye bags, the tip of his nose just tinged red. He was at a loss for what to do, he didn't look like he felt any better at all, and he looked a bit too young and a little bit scared, and Brian felt utterly useless.

“You look a bit bedraggled, do you want me to run you a bath?” he offered, hoping he wouldn't take offense. He didn't, seeming to consider it for a moment, before nodding.

“That might help,” he said, a little sulkily, voice husky as he slowly sat up.

“Easy, there we go,” Brian hushed, hand on the small of his back, noting he was almost soaked through with sweat, trying not to groan.

“Alright, you sort out some clean pyjamas, I'll go sort out the bath, will you be alright to walk?” he worried, and Roger rolled his eyes, sending him a glare.

“I'm not eighty, I'm fine,” he said, waving him away, and Brian left him with the door open to go and get a bath going.

“How is he?” Freddie asked when he saw Brian legging it past the kitchen, watching him backtrack for a second until he was level with the door.

“He's alright. Well, not really. He looks horrible, and sounds horrible, and said he feels horrible, and he's got an awful temperature,” he said quickly.

“God's sake, did you give him anything? Where are you going?” he sounded a bit fed up with him, and Brian rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Fred, I gave him some panadol and I'm off to run him a bath,” he said, making off again before Freddie could ask him any more questions. He ran him a bath, messing with the taps a bit, unsure whether he was supposed to make it hot for his chills or cool for his fever, deciding that warm would be okay, hopefully, deciding quickly against putting in any of Freddie's bubble bath. He might think he was messing around, and he definitely didn't want that. Roger came into the bathroom three minutes later, an armful of warm looking clothing, hair askew, eyelashes stuck together with something gummy. In the proper light he looked worse than ever, probably as bad as he felt, and Brian gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Alright?” he asked. Roger shrugged, dumping his clean clothes onto the closed lid of the toilet, making short work of his shirt and trousers, pausing at his underwear.

“I'll um... I'll just,” he said, turning away from him to pull them down his pale thighs, stepping into the bath, Brian holding his arm out, worried he'd slip. He'd bathed him before, once, when he and Freddie had come home completely shitfaced and he'd been almost completely coated in his own vomit. It hadn't been awkward then, and it wasn't awkward now, though now Roger was a lot quieter and a lot more pliant and a lot less proud of his current situation. He pulled the shower curtain across, only leaving his head exposed as he lowered himself down into the water, leaning back and shutting his eyes.

“Want me to stay?” Brian asked carefully, wanting to make sure his voice conveyed that he wouldn't mind either way.

“Okay,” he croaked quietly, sliding down so just his nose was above the water. Brian did his best not to look, finding himself strangely maybe wanting to, eyes pointed straight ahead at the wall in front of him, only turning to look when he heard Roger moving around to make sure he wasn't drowning. He managed to wash his hair, thank god, it was getting a bit gross, and the rest of himself, before turning to Brian, eyelids half closed.

“Waters going cold,” he mumbled, coughing when his voice caught in his throat. Brian didn't like the sound of it. It sounded dry and painful, and he wanted to reach out to pat his back but he worried it would be a bit weird with Roger sat in the bath and all. He was the one making it weird by thinking like that, he was just here to help his friend, he reminded himself, reaching out to gently squeeze his shoulder. Roger looked up to him, eyes grateful and tired and a little bit adoring, and he held his arm up for him.

“Help,” he said quietly, punctuating it with a little pout, which was adorable, Brian thought. Fuck. No. He shouldn't be thinking he, Roger, was adorable, especially not in here, when he was unwell and trusting and vulnerable. He took his hand pulling him upright as slowly as he could, not wanting to make him dizzy, keeping his eyes firmly on his face as he helped him step over the lip of the bath, handing him a clean towel. Brian heard a knock, making them both jump, Roger almost ripping out a handful of his hair as he squeezed it into the bath.

“You two alright in there?” Freddie, Brian recognised, “Deaky sent me to tell you to hurry up.” Brian shook his head with a smile, and Roger rolled his eyes beneath sleepy eyelids.

“Tell Deaky to fuck off,” Roger called back, finishing with a cough that turned into a bit of a coughing fit, Brian’s hand finding the middle of his back.

“I would but I’m afraid he might actually pack his shit up and go live in a box,” Freddie called back, not hearing a response from either of them, knocking again.

“You better not be fucking in there!” he warned, only a hint of humor in his voice, and the comment made them both go a bit red.

“Honestly, be quick, he needs a wee and I just changed the sheets,” he called, and Brian grinned at Roger.

“Fancy having a shave and doing your teeth?” he asked, making sure Freddie could hear, only earning a sharp tsk in return.

“I might, but he's spiteful enough to piss on my bed,” he rasped, pulling his clothes on as fast as he could as Brian let the water out of the bath. They both exited, and Deaky was out of his room, against the far wall, avoiding the both of them as he hurried into the bathroom, pulling his sleeve over his hand to touch the door handle.

“What a spaz,” Roger rolled his eyes as he spoke, and Brian nudged him.

“Hey,” he warned quietly, shaking his head, and Roger looked a bit sheepish, shuffling over to the sofa and dropping down onto it, pulling his legs up under him.

“Uh, I don't think so, back into bed with you,” Freddie called from behind them, putting the lid back on his pot of soup and hurrying back into the living room, arms folded.

“And you make sure your hair's dry, you'll give yourself pneumonia.”

“Well I would have dried it properly but you kicked me out the bloody bathroom,” Roger's voice was starting to sound thick and nasally again with the absence of the steam from the bath, but he did look a bit better. Brian could only hope his fever had come down a bit.

“That's an old wives tale, Fred,” Brian added.

“I don't care what it is, you're not to go to bed with wet hair, especially when you're ill,” he sounded like he was scolding them, and Roger sank back into the sofa.

“Good thing I'm not going to bed.” He slung his towel over the back of the sofa, making both Brian and Freddie a bit annoyed, and Freddie marched over to dry his hair for him.

“You’re even more of a pain when you're ill,” he grumbled, towel drying his hair a bit too roughly.

“Ow, Ow! Stop!” he grumbled, jerking his head forward.

“You're a prick,” he added, taking the towel and doing it himself, clearing his throat and swallowing with a wince.

“Have we got any cough drops?” he asked, sounding a bit miserable all of a sudden, hair still dripping onto his shoulders, bringing his hand up to his throat.

“I told you!” Freddie said, almost a bit triumphantly, and Brian deflated.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. The chemist's open until nine, I'll go,” he grumbled. Freddie shook his head with a sigh, pushing him gently back down onto the sofa.

“No, I'm going, you don't know what to get, and I'm going to stock up too, seeing as you clearly only want to listen to the pharmacist and not me,” he said accusingly, which, yeah, he did. Freddie was a design student, the pharmacist was, well, an experienced pharmacist. He just shrugged, glad he didn't have to go out in the cold again, switching the TV on and curling up beside Roger as Freddie got his coat and the money from the top of the fridge.

“I'm getting some different cough medicine, too. This stuff probably tastes awful,” he added as he left, shutting the door behind him. Great, the one thing he _had_ gotten, wasn't even right. Roger wilted a bit, head dropping first onto Brian's shoulder, then his chest, and finally his lap, looking the same shade of white he had when he'd woken up before.

He’d felt a little bit better after his bath, the steam had opened up his chest, and the water had been nice and warm and relaxing, and had stopped his muscles aching, but now he was cooling down again, and everything was seizing up. It felt horrible. He’d gone pruney sitting in the bath, and he felt like he’d been dried out. His lips were cracking, and he needed to have something to drink, but he didn’t think he could swallow a thing, not even water. He shivered miserably, feeling very sorry for himself, pressing himself closer to Brian. He’d been so lovely to him since he’d gotten sick, which he hadn’t really expected, but it was really nice. He wasn’t even pushing him away when he got cuddly with him, so he decided that was as good a sign as any that he was definitely in love with him, too. He chose not to take into account the fact that he was sick and fever-loopy, drinking in the feeling of actually being held by him.

Deaky left the bathroom, eyeing the pair of them before making a beeline for his room, looking very shaken, and Brian felt a bit sorry for him, not that there was anything he could do. He took the towel from the back of the sofa, gently working it over his hair again. It was still wet, and it had gone cold, and probably wasn’t very comfortable. Roger didn’t seem to mind, maybe even mewling quietly when he’d started touching his hair. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to what Brian was doing, just shifting a few times to get comfortable, eyes settling on the TV. They settled like that for a while, Brian eventually putting the towel away, and when he earned an annoyed noise from Roger, replacing his hand on his head, gently massaging his scalp. That seemed to keep him happy and quiet for a while, until he spoke up again.

“Look,” Roger's voice was raspy and quiet, and he pointed to the weatherman on the TV lazily. He blinked up at the forecast, stomach dropping a little bit when he heard the words “blizzard” and “blackouts” and “record low.”

“There's going to be a storm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has already gotten an insane response I wasn't expecting so thank u all so much for reading and all ur lovely comments. I've already started another story for the series, poor Deaks is up next and I'll be posting the first chapter in the next couple days <3


	3. Snowflakes

Brian had worked himself up into a bit or a panic, leaving Roger on the sofa with one of Freddie’s throw cushions under his head, earning a little whine. There was going to be a storm, which wasn’t surprising. It was the middle of winter, it had been freezing for weeks now, it was only a matter of time before a storm rolled in. He paced the flat, trying not to spiral. Every new weather event was a ‘record’ something, wasn’t it? How bad could it be? 

They had plenty of canned goods, so they wouldn’t starve, and he’d fill some bottles of water later just in case the pipes froze. He’d move the van as well so it wouldn’t get snowed in, just in case they had to go somewhere, even if they’d stay inside for as long as they could. They’d be alright. But Freddie was still out, he’d been out far longer than he’d expected, actually, and even though the storm would blow in overnight, he was getting anxious about him being out there in the cold by himself. At the same time he couldn’t leave Roger in the flat by himself, well, Deaky would be there, but he wouldn’t be much use if he was panicking about being in the same room as any of them. 

Oh, god, what if they got snowed in, and Deaky felt like he was trapped and had a meltdown? Or what if Roger got worse and needed medical attention and they couldn’t get to a hospital? What if they ran out of firewood, and they all froze to death? Or if a window broke and- no, now he was being silly. They’d been through plenty of storms in the past, and they were always okay, sometimes they could even be fun. School closed and they had an excuse to shut themselves in and be lazy and play games all curled up together under blankets, there was no reason it would be any different this time. Except, Roger was sick with god knows what, and even though he seemed okay  _ now, _ he was anxious about the next few days. 

The front door opened, and slammed shut, and Freddie was in the doorway, shaking snowflakes off his coat and grumbling, arms loaded with groceries. Brian almost collapsed with relief when he saw he had a multipack of candles, and what looked like bags of food from the supermarket, as well as a bag from the pharmacy.   


“There’s going to be another fucking blizzard!” he said, sounding only slightly miffed, dumping everything in the doorway of the kitchen with a loud crash.

“That’s just great, I had plans tomorrow night!”

“Yeah, well, I think they just got cancelled,” he sighed, bending down to help him put the bags away. They were heavy, he’d really stocked up, and he didn’t know how he’d carried them all himself, even if it wasn’t very far.   


“Wow, that’s a lot of beans,” he grunted, stacking them in the corner of the kitchen, doubting they’d have enough room in the small pantry.

“There’s a bag of firewood outside the door,” Freddie panted, a bit red in the face. Brian could have kissed him.   


“You are a gem, Fred,” he sighed, bringing it inside. Roger shot them both a look.   


“Would you both shut the  _ fuck _ up,” he groaned, shivering slightly, looking over to Freddie, “did you get anything good?”   


“Yes, darling,” he clucked, lobbing a bag of cherry cough drops at him, holding up a pack of proper medicated strepsils.   


“In case it gets worse. I sort of went a bit wild at the chemist, I wasn’t sure how this little thing is going to progress and I didn’t want you to have to suffer we get snowed in and you’re dying,” he cooed, reaching out to stroke Roger’s almost dry hair, putting the lozenges on the coffee table where he could see. Brian almost collapsed, ridiculously glad that he had the foresight to prepare.   


“I  _ am _ dying,” Roger complained, and Brian sighed, panic being replaced by slight annoyance. They were only going to egg each other on, a never ending cycle of whining and clucking, he could feel it.

“Poor darling. What hurts?” he asked softly. Roger pouted.   


“My throat is killing me… it feels all achy and sore and stuff,” he mumbled, and Freddie’s hands were at his throat, gently pressing under his jaw. Brian didn’t know what he was doing, but Roger moaned a little and tried to pull away.   


“Fred,” Brian was ready to step in to stop him from hurting Roger. He wasn’t a doctor, he didn’t know what he was doing, and Roger was clearly in pain.

“You’re all swollen love, poor thing. You need to get some fluids into you. I got you some juice if you like?” he offered. He shook his head miserably, only seeming to feel more sorry for himself the more Freddie fussed.   


“Well, I’m making a great big pot of soup, and you’ll be having some once it’s done,” he said decisively. Roger shook his head, and Freddie tutted.   


“You have to, even if it’s only a little bit. I don’t want you getting worse if you’ve got no strength in you,” he said firmly.

“ _ Brian _ ,” Roger whined, throat hoarse, clearly looking for some backup.

“Sorry Rog, he’s right on that one, you do need to try to eat,” he shrugged, and Roger pouted, curling in on himself a bit.

“Thought you were on my side,” he grumbled. Brian laughed fondly, sitting back on the couch beside him, and Roger couldn’t resist nuzzling his face into his thigh a bit.

“I’m on whichever side gets you feeling better faster,” he said, letting his hand settle in the middle of his back. He relaxed a bit at that, propping his head up in his lap, wrinkling his nose.   


“You’re not very comfortable, you know,” he commented, wriggling about a bit as Freddie found him a blanket, “all bony. You should eat more.”   


“Yeah, sure,” he smiled, shaking his head. He hushed him as he tried to kick off the blanket Freddie had found. It was thick and woolen, but a bit scratchy, with a bit of satin sewn around the edges. He remembered that Roger hated that sort of blanket, wondering how he even knew that in the first place, helping him get it off.   


“Freddie, would you grab his duvet, please? Oh, actually, better make it mine, his needs washing,” he asked. Freddie looked at both of them, picking up the blanket off the floor with a huff.

“That’s my mums blanket,” he commented, disappearing into their room and returning with Brian’s clean duvet, dropping it over the back of the couch onto both of them haphazardly.

“Why does mine need to be washed?” he asked, kicking his legs to flatten out the blanket.   


“You had a bit of an accident,” Brian said, helping tuck him in.   


“I don’t remember pissing the bed,” he frowned, looking confused, and concerningly not too worried that he might have.

“No, no I mean you got sick on it a bit,” he clarified, and Roger nodded, a bit relieved.   


“Oh, yeah… oh,” he wrinkled his nose up when he seemed to remember what had happened.

“Sorry I didn’t mean it,” he added.

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it,” he said softly, running a large hand over his shoulders. Freddie disappeared into his room for a moment, poking his head back out a second later.

“Rog, you don’t feel like being sick anymore do you?” he asked, opening the door a crack. Brian could see Deaky huddled on his bed with the lights off, and he felt a bit sorry for him.

“No, not right now,” he called back, not seeming bothered by the question. He saw Deaky’s face relax a little bit, and he was slowly coaxed to the door by Freddie.

“You alright?” Brian called, and he nodded bravely, crossing the room to sit as far away from Roger and Brian as he could.

“Sorry, Deaks,” Roger said softly, and he shook his head.   


“Not your fault,” he said quickly, settling back into the far side of his and Freddie’s sofa, against the armrest.

“You know?” Brian asked Roger quietly, and he nodded softly, sitting up a little bit and leaning heavily on Brian.

“Yeah, puked in the back of a cab after a night out when he was taking me home, almost died on the spot,” he smirked, and Deaky shot him a glare.

“Shut up,” he said quietly. Brian smoothed Roger’s hair, hushing him before he could start a fight over it.   


“I’ve got a big pot of soup on,” Freddie interrupted, also obviously trying to interrupt their brewing argument, “who’s hungry?”

Nobody spoke.   


“Well, that’s too bad you’re all having some,” he huffed, going into the kitchen. Deaky followed him quickly, not wanting to spend too much time around Roger if he could help it.   


“Be nice,” Brian murmured, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze, and Roger shot him a cheeky grin.

“I’m nice,” he said, voice giving up in the middle, causing him to pout.

“Yeah, you’re lovely,” he murmured, shifting around a bit, getting a smack to the knees from Roger.   


“Stop moving,” he whined, voice rasping, barely there as he got comfortable in his lap.   


“You need to sit up anyway,” he said, watching as Freddie brought them two bowls of soup, smiling.   


“Thank, Freddie. Didn’t think I’d get the privilege,” he smiled. Freddie rolled his eyes.   


“Then you’re daft. I’m not going to spend my afternoon cooking  _ just _ for Rog,” he scoffed. Brian pushed Roger upright, earning a whine. Roger panicked as the world tilted, grabbing the edge of the sofa to steady himself, planting a foot firmly on the floor to try to stop the world from spinning, something he often did when he was lying in bed with a hangover, feeling like he was going to spin off the edge of the earth.

“You okay?” Brian asked sheepishly. He hadn’t meant to sit him up so suddenly, and he’d gone a bit pale.   


“Yeah, yeah just fine,” he grumbled, the bowl being forced into his hands. He  _ really _ wasn’t hungry, he’d told them he wasn’t, but he was still being forced to eat, which was making him a bit grumpy. He watched Brian take a spoonful, laughing a bit as his face went red, then almost purple.   


“Jesus, Freddie! Hot!” he said in a muffled voice, swallowing quickly and getting up, dropping the bowl on the coffee table and running to the kitchen for some water. Freddie barked out a laugh as he watched him.   


“It’s got chilli in it!” he called as an afterthought, sitting down on the sofa, Deaky nervously joining him. Brian gulped a glass of water quickly, easing the burn. He never was too good with spicy food, and he remembered Freddie cutting the chillies when they were in the kitchen before. He should have known. He didn’t think he’d put all of them in, but it was clear he had, maybe even more. He took a full glass of water back with him, sitting down, cheeks flushed mostly with embarrassment. It had tasted good, but he wasn’t sure how much more he could handle if it was that spicy. Freddie was eating it like it was nothing, Roger was slurping it like it was bloody tomato soup, even Deaky didn’t seem to be having too much trouble with it. He stirred his bowl, spotting a few large chunks of chilli, picking them out, realising he must have bitten down on one of them.

“It’s good for the sinuses, dear, and it’ll help him sweat out that fever,” Freddie added by ways of an explanation, “and it’ll keep us three healthy, hopefully.”

He took another spoonful, it wasn’t as bad this time. He was careful not to bite down on anything that might have been a chunk of chilli, and he could taste that Freddie had decided to put garlic in, maybe even the entire jar they had in the fridge. He was normally an alright cook, when he was following a recipe, but when he got experimental, it could get dangerous, and he could get upset if anybody said anything about it.

“It’s good, Fred,” he said around a mouthful. He wasn’t  _ really _ lying, he’d definitely put too much garlic in, and too much chilli, and the corn and potatoes  _ had  _ gone a bit mushy - he wasn’t sure you could really call it soup anymore, with everything that was in it, more of a watery stew - but it was edible enough. Roger had enough of a blocked nose that he couldn’t really taste anyway, the hot tingle from the chillies the only flavour that he knew was present, and he didn’t eat much anyway.

After a few mouthfuls, his throat was too sore to swallow any more, and his stomach was starting to hurt again, and he pushed it away miserably.   


“Darling, you’ve got to have a bit more than that,” Freddie scolded, staring him down. Roger couldn’t even find the energy, or the voice, to respond, curling up into himself, letting his head drop onto the armrest of the sofa. He looked terrible, Deaky was eyeing him nervously, and Brian found himself stepping up to defend him, which was odd. But, he  _ had _ tried to eat, and he clearly couldn’t manage any more.

“It’s alright, why don’t you go back to bed, okay? I’ll change the cover on your duvet later, just use mine for now,” he said softly, surprising them all a little bit with how kind he was being. Roger nodded tiredly, taking himself and Brian’s duvet to bed. He didn’t look like he could keep his eyes open for much longer.

“Might turn in early, not too keen on sitting up and watching the storm,” Brian said, heading to his room with a clean cover for Roger’s duvet. He changed it, it wasn’t as nice as Brian’s, he had a thick, feather down one that he’d asked his parents for for his birthday, and Roger had one that was filled with synthetic material which was already balling up in the middle. Brian didn’t mind, Roger would need the warmth more if he was ill, and he layered an extra blanket on his bed, pausing as he looked over to Roger, the only sign he was even alive was the slight up and down as he breathed slowly, snoring softly, punctuated every now and then with a cough. He carefully threw an extra blanket over him as well, feeling the flat already starting to cool down as snow started falling outside. He left his own lamp on, the light hadn’t seemed to bother Roger when he’d come in, and he figured he was probably too exhausted to wake up for at least a solid eight hours.

He’d done his best to read for a while, but the cold was making him sleepy, and he was sinking down in bed, only just managing to remember to flick the lamp off before falling asleep.

 

He was woken up with a bit of a crash, jumping as his eyes snapped open, looking around and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The crash had been all his textbooks falling off his desk, and the avalanche had been caused by the hunched figure, now standing in the middle of the room.

“Rog,” Brian said quietly, not even earning a look in his direction.

“Roger, go to bed,” he said, sitting up and squinting at him. His eyelids were almost completely closed, and he looked aimless and confused, grabbing for something else on the desk.   


“Roger,” Brian sighed, getting up and wincing as the cold stung his exposed arms. He gently held Roger by the shoulders, barely earning a response from him.   


“Wee,” was all he said to him. Brian sighed, nodding softly. He was sleepwalking again. He sometimes did, when he was very tired, or stressed, or sick. He held his shoulders, noting the horrible heat radiating from him, steering him to the bathroom. He dragged his feet, once trying to drop his trousers in the middle of the living room, and Brian sighed, speeding up a little, bundling him into the loo. Once there, he helped him with his trousers, sitting him on the toilet and turning his back. He heard Roger whine, knocking the roll of toilet paper off the holder violently, watching it roll across the tile.   


“No, Rog, stay there,” he groaned, having to turn around to keep him sitting down.

“Wee,” Roger insisted, and Brian rolled his eyes.   


“Yes, you can wee now,” he sighed.

“Oh,” he mumbled, and Brian’s face went red as he started. He looked away from him, waiting until it sounded like he was finished before turning back to him.   


“All finished?” he asked, and Roger nodded, fumbling to grab onto something. Brian reached out to help him up, helping him with his trousers back on, wincing as Roger let out a horrible sounding cough, hand flying to his throat.   


“I know, sore,” Brian mumbled softly, wrapping an arm around him. Roger nodded pitifully, dropping his head onto Brian’s shoulder. He ran his hand over his shoulder, carefully taking him back to bed. He dropped his hand onto his forehead when he had him safely back in bed, wincing. He knew you weren’t supposed to let sleepwalkers eat anything, but he needed to get him to take something for his fever. He popped out two more pills, and handed him his water. He didn’t take it.   


“Rog, open up,” he sighed. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was sleepwalking, or if he was awake and his fever was so bad he was a bit out of it, but he opened his mouth, allowing Brian to awkwardly position the two pills on his tongue, helping him with a glass of water. He managed to swallow them, with a low, pitiful moan, followed by a little sob.

“I know, sore, this’ll help,” he muttered, helping him sip a bit more water. Once he was settled back in bed, he got up, leaving him to sleep, climbing back into his own bed. It wasn’t two minutes before he heard a whine, and Roger getting up and shuffling across the room, falling on top of Brian in bed.

“Oof, heavier than you look, Rog,” he gasped.   


“Cold,” he mumbled, wriggling to try to get under the covers with him.

“No, Rog, go back to bed,” he mumbled, trying to shove him away, feeling his cheeks go a little bit red. It was nice to have him in bed with him, he was very warm and very cuddly, but he only had a single, and it was too small for Brian and his gangly limbs when he was by himself, let alone having Roger’s, albeit compact body, squished up alongside his.

“Go on,” he mumbled, but Roger just cuddled up closer to him, unrelenting. He sighed, deciding that there was no way he could get him off him without hurting him, so he moved over to make room for him, making sure he was tucked up tightly and warm, snoring quietly, before he let his eyes slip closed.

 

When he woke up, Roger was practically clinging to him, shivering almost violently. The sky outside was grey and dark, and the windowsills were lined thickly with snow. Great, that meant that they were probably already snowed in, and the flat was absolutely freezing.   


“Rog, hey… come on now I need to get up,” he whispered, trying to squirm out of his arms. He just held him tighter with a grumble.   


“No, Rog, come on,” he sighed, managing to slip free of his grip, thinking for a moment before bundling the duvet off Roger’s bed around him to make sure he was warm enough.

He stepped into the living room, relieved to see Freddie sitting by the fire, prodding it and throwing another piece of firewood on, warming the room instantly, Deaky curled up on the sofa under a blanket, fast asleep.   


“Morning darling,” he whispered, smiling up at him, “power’s gone out, Deaky said it should be back on before dinnertime.”

Brian sat on the empty sofa, warming his fingers by the fire, wondering what they were supposed to do for fun while they were stuck inside. Freddie seemed to have read his mind, and turned back to him with a big grin on his face.   


“Scrabble Royale?” he asked, eyes sparkling. Oh no. Not Scrabble Royale. Freddie had come up with his favourite ever game one day when they were all stuck inside from a horrible rainstorm: all day scrabble tournaments, for money or dares, and they never ended well. It was bound to end in tears, or one of them having to run down the street in the snow naked, and Brian wasn’t in the mood for a day of raised voices and fist fighting.

“Oh, I think Rog might be a bit too unwell, maybe,” he said softly, gesturing toward their room. Freddie’s face fell.   


“Oh, is he still feeling awful?” he wrinkled his nose.   


“Yeah, he might be worse actually. He was up sleepwalking half the night and then crawled in with me for a cuddle, so,” he heard Freddie snort.   


“What?”

“Oh, just that he’s completely in love with you,” he said with a scoff. Brian rolled his eyes.

“Mmhm. Right,” he mumbled, going to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, cursing when he remembered the power was off, glad they had a gas stove.

“Tea?” he called, hearing Freddie hum, then Deaky’s hoarse voice float in as well.   


“Yes please,” he called. He thought he should make one for Roger too, in case he woke up, spending a few minutes messing about with their mugs and blindly grabbing in the fridge for the milk, not wanting to let the cold out, until he heard a thump from his room. Freddie was in there before any of them could get up, and Brian turned the stove off and rushed to the bedroom, seeing Roger in a heap on the floor, tangled in blankets.

“Oh, god, Rog,” he quickly moved over to him, crouching beside where Freddie was sitting.   


“Did you fall down darling?” Freddie asked softly, gently holding him up. Brian winced. He looked horrible, he was pale and dripping sweat and snot and god knows what else, and he looked like he was barely conscious. He nodded, moaning a bit.

“Did you hit your head?” Brian asked quickly, hand reaching out to help hold him upright.   


“Mm… I don’t know,” he mumbled, blinking and rubbing his eyes with his arm.

“Okay, that’s alright, let me see,” he said softly, running his hand over his head. There was a small lump at the back of his head, and he whined.   


“Oh, oh god okay, looks like you might’ve bumped it,” he said quietly, “it’s not too bad though.” 

He hoped it wasn’t, anyway. He wasn’t a doctor, but he wasn’t bleeding either, so he thought it might be alright.

“I’ll get some peas,” Freddie mumbled, getting up quickly and jogging into the kitchen. Brian helped Roger back up and onto the bed, and Roger wheezed with effort, which was concerning. He’d once seen him scale four balconies to get to one of his old boyfriends staying in student accommodations after a gig, so standing up from the floor to the bed shouldn’t have him wheezing.

“You okay?” he asked, kneeling in front of the bed to get a better look at him. He shook his head, trying to clear his throat and wincing. Freddie came back in with some frozen peas, holding them to the back of his head, sitting beside him.

“My throat-” he whimpered, his voice cutting out, wincing as he tried to swallow.

“Your throat darling?” Freddie cooed, sitting up on his knees, “I’ll get a torch and have a look, you sound awful.”

Roger looked at Brian, a pitiful look in his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering.   


“Here, god, Rog, you look horrible,” he sighed, wrapping a duvet around his shoulders. Freddie returned with the biggest, most impractical torch they had.   


“Alright, open up,” he said, holding it up.   


“Couldn’t have found something a bit smaller Fred?” Brian asked with a fond smile, and Freddie shook his head.   


“All out of batteries, we kept taking them out for... other things,” he said sheepishly. Brian just shook his head, not wanting to hear about it.   


“This one doesn’t take double A’s though so we didn’t… never mind,” he flapped his hands, “come hold it so I can have a look.”

Brian did as he was told, holding the torch up, apologising when he shone it in his eyes, trying to angle it down. It was a bit tricky, the torch was definitely too big for the job.

“Say ahh,” Freddie said, holding his jaw to keep it still. Roger did his best, but what came out of his mouth was one of the most pathetic noises Brian had ever heard, and it made his eyes water for some reason.   


“Oh, fuck, darling that’s awful!” Freddie cried, recoiling a bit. Brian leaned in to have a look, wincing. He could see his tonsils, swollen and red, with whitish-yellow flecks on them. Brian was no doctor, but he was almost certain they weren’t supposed to look that way.   


“Oh, god Rog, no wonder you feel so rotten,” he said softly. Roger then coughed directly onto his face, which pretty much sealed Brian’s fate, and he winced, doing his best not to yell at him.   


“I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking guilty, and Brian couldn’t find it in himself to be cross with him anymore.

“It’s alright love,” oh, he hadn’t meant to call him that, and Roger was staring at him now, a hint of a smile on his lips, and he went red again.   


“Busted,” Freddie said, all but snatching the torch and flouncing out of the room, leaving them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep an eye out, Deaky suffering comin at ya in a day or so


	4. Melting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of this lil thingo, apologies in advance I cannot do endings so uhh  
> Enjoy

“You called me love,” Roger rasped, grinning despite how sick he looked.   


“Yeah, I suppose I did, um…” he didn’t have anything else to say to him, and Roger smirked.

“You hungry?” Brian did his best to change the subject. Roger shrugged, settling back into bed.

“I’d kiss you, but I’m sick,” he managed, wiggling his eyebrows.   


“Didn’t stop you coughing on me,” he mumbled, shaking his head, “no, Rog, we’ll discuss this when you’re better,” he said, only because he wasn’t really sure that there was to work out, or how it was going to work out. Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted to come out of it. He needed a bit longer to think about it. 

“Are we snowed in?” Roger asked, peering out the window. He looked too weak to hold his head up, and Brian just nodded.   


“I think so. Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of firewood and food, so we’ll just laze about until it clears up,” he said calmly. Roger grinned.   


“Don’t need firewood if-” he coughed, wheezing a little and trying again, “firewood if I’ve got-” he wheezed again, coughing harshly, bringing something up this time, and Brian winced.

“If I’ve got you to keep me warm,” he finally finished, wiggling an eyebrow as best he could. Brian rolled his eyes, finding it hard not to smile.   


“Was it worth it? It doesn’t seem like it was worth it. Now stop talking, you’re making yourself worse,” he tutted, and Roger settled down in bed.   


“Made you smile though,” he coughed, pulling his blankets up.

“Keep me company?”

Brian had to smile, nodding his head.   


“Yeah, I’ll keep you company Rog, but you need to sleep,” he said. Roger shook his head.   


“I’ve been sleeping for ages,” he whined. Brian rolled his eyes, sighing.

“You should read to me,” he said, folding his arms. Brian brightened up a bit at that. That was something he could definitely do. He liked reading, it might keep Roger entertained, and he wouldn’t have to think too much.   


“Alright, what do you want to hear?” he asked, springing up and going to their bookshelf.   


“I don’t know… something,” he mumbled, scooting over in his bed, making room for Brian to snuggle up. He opened the curtains as he did, so Brian would be able to see what he was reading, and Brian picked out one of the new sci fi novels Roger had bought from the second hand bookshop at school, settling down on the bed. He leaned back, and Roger immediately settled up against him, peering at the book.   


“Haven’t started that one yet,” he commented. Brian smiled as he snuggled up to him, and he raised an eyebrow.   


“Want me to pick something else?” he asked.   


“No, it’s alright,” he mumbled, shutting his eyes against his chest. Brian wasn’t sure how long he’d stay awake, or if he’d be trapped under him for the rest of the day, but he found himself not really minding as he started reading to him. Roger sighed contentedly, letting himself go slack against Brian, and he was pretty sure he was already falling asleep.

He read to him for twenty minutes or so, before he heard soft snoring, smiling to himself and letting his hand drop down onto his head, stroking his hair. Roger made an annoyed little noise at that, brushing him off, snuggling down further into the bed. Brian soothed him, moving to get up, and Roger’s hand locked around his wrist.

“Don’t you dare,” he rasped, and Brian rolled his eyes, slipping out from beneath him, thinking he might get away with it if he was charming enough. He dropped a very light kiss onto his forehead, and Roger’s face seemed to heat up, squirming down further in the bed.

“Just a minute, love,” he’d added the love deliberately this time, watching as Roger practically melted into the mattress. He smiled and left him to sleep, going out into the living room to see Freddie pacing the flat, John curled up in front of the fire, watching him, clearly out of things to say.

“What’s happened?” Brian asked, eyes moving back and forth as he watched Freddie pace figure eights behind the couch.   


“Did you not see how ill he was?!” Freddie almost snapped, and Brian was taken aback, jerking upright and squaring his shoulders.   


“Yeah, I did,” he shook his head softly, “it’s probably just tonsillitis, mine looked like that when I had it last winter.”

“Yes, Brian, I’m not an idiot,” he snapped. He was scared then. He always got snarky when he was frightened.

“No, sorry, I know,” he held his hands, up, dropping down onto the sofa and shooting John a look. He just shook his head at him tiredly, going back to poking at the fire and trying to pretend he was Very Busy and Not Listening.

“It would have started as a flu, otherwise he wouldn’t be so ill,” Freddie pointed out. Brian nodded, that’s how it had happened to him last year as well, he’d gotten sick and hadn’t taken care of himself, and it had developed into a horrible bout of tonsillitis almost overnight.

“If he has tonsillitis, it means he’s going to need antibiotics or it could go on forever,” not true, Brian thought, “and it can develop into something much worse,” okay, that part was maybe true.

“Right, well, we’ll get him some antibiotics then,” Brian spoke calmly, but Freddie wasn’t having it, tone turning a bit nasty. He didn't get upset about it, they were all stressed and cooped up and worried. He didn't blame him for being a bit touchy.   


“And  _ where _ are we going to ‘just get some antibiotics’ from, Brian? Don’t suppose we can pop down to the chemist without a prescription?” he spat, going back to pacing. Brian had never seen him so worked up, Roger was doing alright, he was asleep in his room, and the snow had stopped, they’d only have to wait another day or so before it melted enough to go out, less if there was a plow through at some point.

“Alright, then we wait for the streets to clear a bit, and we’ll take him to the doctor,” Brian suggested. Freddie just scowled at him, although he couldn’t really see a fault in his plan.

“Oh,  _ marvellous idea, _ ” Freddie spat, waving his arms around, and he could see tears in his eyes. God, he was in one of his Very Dramatic moods, fantastic.

“And what do you propose we do when it starts snowing again in an hours time and traps us even worse?!” he snapped. Brian jumped again, not expecting him to raise his voice so much.

“Is it going to?” he asked sheepishly. He hadn’t paid much attention to the forecast last night, tuning out as soon as he’d seen there was going to be a storm. He saw John nodding, lips still pressed shut, giving him a funny look.   


“Okay, alright, well, while it’s not snowing I’ll take him down to the doctors and get him a prescription,” Brian said softly, trying his best to placate him.   


“You’re not taking him out in a snowstorm, Brian!” Freddie practically exploded, arms waving about wildly, and he winced. He was about to say something else, when Roger appeared in the doorway, looking drained and pale, leaning heavily on the door-frame.   


“Guys, could you please be quiet?” his voice was soft and hoarse and as non confrontational as possible. He looked downright drained, and worryingly not in the mood for a fight.

“My ear hurts,” he added, and both Brian and Freddie immediately dropped out of their argument, turning to him. Even John looked over, concerned, sitting up properly.   


“It really hurts,” he tacked on for good measure, staring at all three of them miserably and cupping a hand over the offending ear. Freddie and Brian just looked to each other for a moment. Shit.

Freddie rushed over, enveloping him in his arms and cradling his head to his chest like a baby.

“Does it sweetheart? You poor thing,” he shot Brian a sharp look, and he sighed. He knew you could get bad ear infections with tonsillitis, and he hadn’t expected everything to hit Roger so quickly. It probably had something to do with the fact that he’d walked himself home in below freezing temperatures and had gone to sleep in wet clothes, though Brian wouldn’t bring it up, figuring what he was suffering through now was probably enough of a lesson learned. If he ever tried to do anything that stupid again, though, well… that was another issue completely.

“Go back to bed, Rog,” he said softly, watching gratefully as Freddie guided him back to bed, finding the cough medicine, and some more panadol, figuring he might as well lug the entire bag that Freddie had brought home from the chemist in there with him. Roger looked over miserably as Brian entered the room, not bothering to sit up, leaning in as Freddie rested his hand on his forehead.   


“Poor darling, no wonder you’re so miserable, you have an awful fever,” he tutted, fussing over him a bit. It seemed to calm Roger down, so Brian let him do his thing while he went through the bag of medicines, wondering if anything in there would actually miraculously help. He just seemed to be getting worse, and the thought of another, heavier snowfall made Brian’s stomach clench, so he made a snap decision.

“Fred, try to get some soup or something into him, I’m going down to the chemist to see if I can talk them into giving me some antibiotics,” he said, grabbing another jumper, and a coat, ducking under his bed to look for his boots. Freddie gave him a look like he’d gone mad.   


“They won’t give you any, Brian, you’re not a doctor. And you can’t go out in this cold! You’ll freeze!” he said incredulously, but Brian didn’t miss the grateful look in his eyes.

“Well, like you said, he’s just going to keep getting worse, what do you want me to do?” he mumbled, looking for his wallet.   


“Is there any money left from before?”

“Hang on, darling,” Freddie flapped his hands and got up, racing into his room. Brian rolled his eyes as he watched him practically prance away, turning to look at Roger. He looked a little bit out of it, eyes drifting up to Brian’s face and watching him put his coat on.   


“Where you goin’?” he mumbled, and Brian winced. Every time he spoke, his poor voice only seemed to get fainter, and his throat looked actually swollen now. He was going to get him his medicine, no matter what.

“Down to the chemist, you need some stronger medicine,” he said softly, taking a moment to measure out some cough medicine. Roger took it, almost alarmingly, without complaint, following it up with the two panadol he’d popped out. Freddie returned to the room, waving around a ten pound note, slipping it to Brian.   


“Christ, Fred, it’s not going to be that much,” he said. Freddie shrugged.   


“Lowest note I’ve got,” he said nonchalantly, and Brian briefly wondered just how much money he had saved up in that shoe box. It would be rude to ask, but he was very glad he had it. 

“Alright, well, I’ll be back,” he said bravely. Freddie looked a touch guilty.   


“Take Deaky with you!” he said quickly. John looked up, eyes going wide.   


“Take who now?” he said softly, putting down the piece of firewood he was about to throw into the fireplace.

“Go on, Deaks, he’ll need some help convincing the stuffy old sod down there to give them to him,” Freddie said. He stared him down.   


“I’m on fire duty,” he said quickly. Freddie rolled his eyes at him, taking the chunk of wood and lobbing it into the fire.   


“There, now I’m on fire duty  _ and  _ Roger duty. It’s not going to die while you’re out, we have fire-starters, go on,” he said, leaning in and lowering his voice. 

“Please, love, he's  _ hopeless _ ,” Freddie urged. Brian shrugged at him. He might be a bit of help, even if he didn’t think it would be  _ too  _ hard to convince anybody that they needed them. They weren’t exactly party drugs, and being in the middle of the storm, it wasn’t outlandish to expect it would be hard to get a sick person out of the house. Deaky let out a long sigh, looking up at the ceiling like he was praying for it to cave in on him, and when it didn’t, he stood up, shrugging on his coat and a warm hat, before pulling on his boots.

“Alright, come on. Let’s make it quick.”

 

Brian and John practically ran to the chemist, the streets were snowed in but the canopies outside the shops had kept the footpaths fairly clear, and the chemist was only a five minute walk, which they managed without freezing. Thankfully, the chemist was open, which John had only pointed out it might not have been when they were inside.   


“Didn’t think of that,” Brian admitted, letting out a few panted breaths, relishing the warmth inside the store.   


“Alright, where do they keep the antibiotics?...” John asked, looking around, clearly uncomfortable to be a store where every surface had probably been touched by sick people. A woman behind them sneezed, and he tensed up, shoulders up around his ears. 

“Uh, I think they’re kept behind the counter,” he said, leading him to the back of the shop, flashing his most innocent smile at the pharmacist. It was the same man he’d seen last time, and he smiled back warmly, leaning over the counter.   


“Yes, son, how can I help today?” he asked, eyeing John standing beside him, looking awfully jumpy.

“Uh, it’s a bit of a… I’m not sure if you can help me,” he said nervously, earning an increasingly concerned look.

“We need antibiotics, my friend is really sick and we can’t get him out to see a doctor, you know, the storm,” he gestured around, cringing when he saw John nodding wildly behind him, looking a bit deranged. He stepped on his toe with his heel, and his face dropped back down to appear as neutral and not-panicked as possible.

“Ah, I’m afraid antibiotics are prescription only, I can’t just hand them out like sweets,” he said sternly. Brian’s face fell.   


“Oh, yes. I know that, I know,” he sighed, putting on his best act, looking as defeated and sorrowful as he could, “I just don’t know what we’re going to do.” He saw the man’s face drop a little bit, and he frowned.   


“He’s really sick, you see,” he went on, “and we’re not sure how much worse it’ll get without medicine. We can’t get him out of the house, he’s too sick, he can’t even walk. Besides, we’re worried what will happen if we try to drive in the storm, if we get stuck with him in the van. Its not very reliable, and if we break down and freeze…”

“Oh dear,” the older man mumbled, and Brian knew he almost had him. He could see his stern expression faltering, and he sighed.

“It’s alright, I suppose we’d better start thinking of plan B or something, come on Deaks,” he sighed, making himself look almost as pathetic as he could, pausing a little when he heard the man sigh.   


“Well, I suppose if you were to get me a prescription, once the snow stops, to make up for it,” he said quickly. Brian whipped his head around, eyes wide and hopeful.   


“Yes! Yeah, yeah we can get him to the doctor as soon as the streets clear, we’ll bring it right in,” he said, nodding enthusiastically. John kept quiet, honestly surprised that Brian’s little plan had worked despite how very un-clever it had been, not wanting to mess anything up.

“Alright, give me an idea of what’s wrong with him, I’ll find something that should work,” he said, getting out a notepad and asking for Brian’s licence. He wasn’t sure why, but he handed it over without argument, watching him copy the numbers.   


“Right, um, well, we’re pretty sure it started out as like a flu, but his tonsils are really, really swollen and disgusting, and he’s just started complaining that his ear hurts,” he explained, heart starting to race when he realised it had  _ actually _ worked, and Roger would be alright.

“Mm, sounds like he’s probably got tonsillitis then,” he mused, turning his back on them and taking something of the shelf, “penicillin should do the trick.”

Brian nodded, feeling himself relax a little bit as he wrote out a label, listening to the man’s detailed explanation of exactly how he needed to take it, how often and how much, and what to do if he had a reaction, being very clear that he needed to finish the entire packet or he’d relapse. Deaky nodded his head behind him, he seemed to be absorbing it a lot better than Brian was. Brian took it, his hand shaking a bit, paying for it and all but running out of the store, feeling like he’d gotten away with something very naughty.

“I can’t believe that worked,” he said breathlessly, shoving the packet into his coat pocket for safe keeping. Deaky nodded in agreement.   


“Neither did I, it was pretty daft,” he said, following him home, having to jog to keep up with Brian’s long strides. They were back at the flat in no time, having to clear the snow away from the door to get inside the building. Freddie was waiting for them, just inside the door of the flat.   


“Did you get it!? I saw you coming back down the street, I couldn’t tell what had happened you weren’t expressive enough!” he scolded. 

“Sorry, love, I'll be sure to dig out a message in the snow next time,” John said, earning a playful slap on the bum from Freddie. Brian rolled his eyes, pulling the box out of his pocket. Freddie gasped, clapping his hands and pulling Brian into a crushing hug. He coughed a little bit when the air was squeezed from his lungs, smiling with pride.

“You did it! Oh, Brian I knew you could!” he praised.

“Yeah, yeah,” he smiled, pretending he wasn’t also incredibly proud of himself. Freddie took them and checked the box, running into Roger excitedly.

“I don’t know how you did it Brian, but you’re amazing!” he called over his shoulder. Brian winced as he shook Roger awake to take his medicine.   


“Fred, careful!” Brian called. John sat back by the fire, making an annoyed noise to see that it had been allowed to smoulder to ashes while he was gone, concentrating on building it back up again.

“Brian,” Roger called with a whine, trying to escape Freddie’s grip.

“What are- Freddie, let him go,” he sighed. Roger was leaning away from him as Freddie regaled the tale of Brian’s ‘heroics’ loudly.   


“Fred!” he raised his voice just a little, getting his attention.   


“His ear,” he reminded him, and he grinned sheepishly at him. He glanced out the window, noticing it had just started snowing again, pulling the curtain across to try to keep a bit of heat in. Despite knowing that they had everything they needed,  _ now,  _ he still got a bit nervous at the thought of being trapped, and didn't need a reminder. 

“You do need to take you medicine,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed with Freddie.

“Stop…  _ crowding _ me,” he whined, trying to push them both away. Freddie sighed and stood up, and Brian moved away a bit. Roger picked up the box, turning it over in his hands.   


“How the  _ fuck _ did you get these?” he coughed, looking up, confused.

“Brian’s a hero,” Freddie grinned, wrapping an arm around him.   


“Don’t let him think that,” Roger groaned, popping out a pill and swallowing it dry.   


“Don’t do that,” Brian winced, handing him a fresh glass of water that Freddie must have fetched for him. He shook his head, pushing it away.

“What’s everyone doing?” Roger asked curiously, now seeming properly awake for the first time in a couple of days.

“Well,  _ I  _ wanted to play Scrabble Royale,” Freddie said. Brian rolled his eyes, and Roger turned up his nose.   


“No thanks, what else?” he asked. Freddie frowned at him, folding his arms.

“You’re all pricks, I’m going to go have fun by myself,” he sulked, flouncing out of the room.   


“Don’t strain anything!” Roger called, popping himself another strepsil.   


“They make my tongue numb,” he complained, voice sounding thick and raspy still, but maybe not as sore as it had before.   


“I think that’s the point,” he said, sitting back up close to him when Roger reached a hand out for him.   


“Feels horrid,” he grumbled, folding his arms.   


“As horrid as how it feels without them?” he questioned, and Roger rolled his eyes.

“You’re a cock,” he mumbled, before looking up at him innocently.   


“Read to me?” he asked. Brian was sure he’d deliberately made his voice sound smaller, and he couldn’t resist.

“Mmhm, where did I get up to before you fell asleep?” he asked. Roger shrugged half heartedly, snuggling up to him as close as he could, head resting against his chest.   


“I’ll start again,” he sighed, not really minding, taking a breath to begin.   


“I really like you, Brian,” Roger said quickly, not looking up at him. Brian smiled softly. Obviously, he thought, but it was nice to hear it out loud.   


“I like you too,” he smiled, and Roger relaxed into him. His shoulder was pointy, and it was hurting him a little bit, but he didn’t make him move, dropping a kiss onto the top of his head. Roger smiled, snuggling up, falling asleep almost straight away. Brian didn’t care, he was tired too, and he cuddled up with him for a nap. 

 

“Brian, wake up,” Freddie’s voice travelled into the room, and Brian could just make him out in the doorway. It was dark now, and there weren’t any lights on.   


“Power still out?” he asked hoarsely, gently moving Roger to get up.   


“Yes, and we have no idea when it’s going to come back on. It’s getting really cold though, so we thought you and Rog should come camp-out here with us.”

He was right, the room was freezing. The old building they lived in didn’t have great insulation, and when the windows were covered with snow it bled heat outside, and freezing air in.

“You’re probably right,” he stretched out, sitting up, gently shaking Roger. He didn’t seem to want to wake up, and he tried shrugging him off.   


“No, Rog, come on. We need to go out where it’s warm,” he said softly, gently running his fingers through his hair.

“Warm here,” his voice squeaked. Brian laughed softly, squeezing his shoulder.   


“Come on. I’m not carrying you but I might drag you,” he grinned. Roger whined, sitting up, looking like he’d been standing out in the snowstorm, hair matted on one side, standing up on the other, wet through with sweat, blinking wearily.   


“Where we goin?” he mumbled, squinting up at him in the darkness.

“Living room, where the fire is,” he explained, helping him bundle himself up in all the blankets on the bed and drag himself out of the room, noting that one of them, probably John, had stuffed towels and spare linens along the bottoms of all the doors and windows.

“There we go, easy,” he guided him onto the sofa, lying him down, sitting on the floor beside him. For the first time, Roger poked his head out from the blankets and stretched his neck out so he could reach Brian, pecking him on the cheek. Brian wasn’t 100% sure exactly when in the past few days their friendship had developed into whatever this was, but he didn’t mind. John eyed them curiously, and Freddie stifled a giggle, but neither of them paid him any mind.   


“Charades!” Freddie said quickly, clapping his hands together. Brian raised an eyebrow, and Roger groaned.   


“Yes! Come on, charades! Roger, darling, you don’t have to get up, you can just guess!” he said, winding himself up about it more and more. Brian eyed Deaky, who looked ready to curl up in the corner and wither away to nothing after the stress of the past few days, and Freddie was already looking for the box on the bookshelf. All of them were far too exhausted to get into a game, but it was more effort to try to stop him.    


“I’d  _ literally _ rather die,” Roger grumbled, curling up, hiding under the blankets, but Brian could see him peering out of his blanket bundle.   


“Stop being such a shit, Rog,” Freddie rolled his eyes fondly, lighting another candle to illuminate himself, definitely for dramatic effect, drawing a card.

Roger pretended he wasn’t watching, but he was surprisingly really good at charades, and he kept getting fed up with watching Freddie trying to act out every thought that crossed his mind, and the others boredly, haphazardly guessing their way through the answers.

“It’s Bride of Frankenstein you fucks!” he rasped, sounding very, very annoyed with all of them. Brian grinned at him, he looked very cute all red in the face with his arms folded over himself, hair falling over his eyes, and he couldn’t held reaching up to brush the hair out of his eyes.

“It’s time for some more of your pills anyway, love,” again, he’d thrown the love in on purpose, it seemed to calm him down last time. It worked again, and he nodded.

“You’re supposed to take it with food! I’ll warm up some soup!” Deaky said, sounding very excited to have an excuse to leave the room for a while.

“Thanks Deaks,” he called after him, smiling when Roger wrapped his arms around his shoulders, leaning his head down on his shoulder.

“Come cuddle,” he whined. Brian turned his head to look at him over his shoulder.   


“On the sofa?” he asked, eyeing it. There was hardly enough room for Roger, there was no way he would fit, not without dislocating a few joints at least, but he was giving him  _ that look,  _ and he couldn’t resist.   


“After you’ve had your soup,” Brian compromised. He should have known that Roger wasn’t about to compromise on anything, though.

“No, now,” he whined. He looked a fair bit better than he had before, less like he was dying, and now he was just getting whiny and clingy, which Brian didn’t mind either.   


“Fine, alright, sit up,” he sighed, scooting up onto the sofa beside him. Roger immediately squeezed him against the arm of the sofa, leaning heavily on him. Deaky brought in his soup and the box of antibiotics, as well as some more panadol and cough medicine, politely leaving it on the coffee table in front of the sofa, not yet feeling confident enough to actually make contact with Roger, which was okay.   


“Eat up,” Brian urged him, picking up the bowl of soup.   


“Feed me,” Roger whined. Brian rolled his eyes, pushing the bowl of soup at him.   


“I’m  _ not _ feeding you, you're perfectly capable,” he sighed. 

“Am  _ not.  _ I’m  _ sick _ ,” Roger whined, and stared him down, and somehow Brian found himself spooning soup into his mouth while Roger leaned against him contentedly, slurping away. 

“You’re  _ gone,  _ Bri,” Freddie grinned, shaking his head. Brian knew he was right, but he also found it impossible to care. Roger was happy, and he was getting better, and all Brian had to do was be there and play along. He finished his soup, and his medicine, and Brian whiled away the night stroking Roger’s hair and chatting to his friends, feeling ridiculously unbothered by what had come to be.

And when he woke up the next morning, Roger on top of him, feeling like his head was going to explode and his throat feeling like he’d been gargling razor blades, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this series made me make chicken soup for me and my housemates. I did it in the slow cooker. It was good. Thanks for reading and commenting :)

**Author's Note:**

> So i've already got ideas/outlines for the rest of the bois for this series to make it even bc they should all have to suffer, but if u wanna read anything specific in the way of sickfics hmu ok bye love u <3


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